


The Fire Alarm

by alifletcher2010



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, First Meetings, Fluff, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-11 20:13:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19933834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alifletcher2010/pseuds/alifletcher2010
Summary: Typically when the fire alarm goes off, it's Rowan's fault. But not tonight.





	The Fire Alarm

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired from QoS when all of them are hopeless in the kitchen

Sirens pierced the still evening. Out of habit, Rowan ran to the kitchen to check his stove...and found nothing. No smoke, no flames, nothing. He smirked as he grabbed his jacket and made his way outside, because this time it wasn’t _his fault._

Rowan made his way downstairs quickly. He met many of his neighbors on the way out and actually met their eye because it wasn’t his fault. Ms. Molina glared at him and he just shrugged. He hated to admit it, but most of the time the alarm went off, it was at least _partially_ his fault.

Ok, so last month when he was attempting to make dinner for his date and they got a little. _._. _distracted_ , that had kind of been his fault. But also his date’s. But also mostly the smoke alarms, because his sauce had only just begun to smoke when the sirens interrupted their _activities_. Come on, that had to be a sign of an overactive smoke alarm system. He had definitely paid his dues for it with a ten minute lecture on stovetop safety from a firefighter who looked like he should still be in grade school.

Two weeks ago, it was so incredibly _not_ his fault. The only burner on his crappy stovetop that cooked evenly also happened to be the one that had a broken knob. It got stuck on high when he meant to turn it down to a simmer. By the time he had realized his rice was a charcoal and half the building was already evacuated. Poor Pietro downstairs had been having his six year birthday party and was sobbing by the time Rowan made it to the lawn. He tried not to hear the distressed child’s worry about all his presents getting burned up while he listened to yet _another_ lecture about stovetop safety.

Last Tuesday...well that was probably really, actually his fault. He had been scoping out the stunning blonde who was moving in next door. He had been too busy watching her come and go through the peephole (he was not proud of how creepy that was) and in his distraction, set a towel on fire. He was able to recite the stovetop lecture almost word for word that time.

But today, Rowan had given up on the cooking. He admitted to himself it was a lost cause if it wasn’t eggs or couldn't be made in the microwave (and sometimes not even then) and ordered takeout. Even though half the building was glaring at him and the other half was pretending he didn’t exist and that same stupid firefighter was making his way over to him.

“Look, 208, I’m just going to unplug your stove when we’re up there checking things out. You clearly cannot be trusted with it.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t me today Chief.” The look of shock that flitted across his face was enough to make Rowan’s day.

“Umm, it was me...209.” Rowan’s beautiful neighbor appeared at his elbow and sheepishly looked at the firefighter, who rolled his eyes.

“We’ll go check it out and make sure it’s all clear.”

Rowan grinned down at her. “I guess I owe you my thanks. Typically I’m the fire alarm culprit. Now everyone has someone else to blame for ruining their evening.”

She flushed, “Oh great...this was not the first impression I wanted to give everyone.”

“They’ll get over it. I’m Rowan,” he stuck out his hand. She shook it.

“Aelin...uhh...maybe you can recommend me some good take out places?” Rowan couldn’t keep the laughter from bubbling up out of him.

By the time the firefighters had given them the all clear to go back into the building, Rowan had learned she had just moved back to Terrasen after graduating college, got her number _and_ a coffee date for the next morning. They were so engrossed with their conversation, they didn’t see their friendly neighborhood firefighter approach.

“Ugh, do me a favor you two,” he groaned, “If you get married, promise me you’ll _never_ cook.”


End file.
